


This is How Things Start

by static_abyss



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/F, Gen, Latino Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: Isabelle inhaled, one long breath, her shoulders rising with it, holding it until her lungs ached, holding it a little longer. She exhaled, shook out her hair, head up, shoulders down, as she made her way down the hallway. She was a Lightwood, she reminded herself with each muffled click of her heels on the carpeted floor. Her mother wouldn't approve of breakdowns





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to Melinda! 
> 
> I know you gave me three different prompts, but I sort of read them and went, "ah yes, meet cute where x and y are staying at a bed and breakfast near the holidays and x befriends y" and then a bunch of other stuff happens and here we are now. Also, there are exactly two lines of Spanish, so the translations for those lines will be at the end of the fic.
> 
> Many many thanks to auclizzy @ tumblr for betaing this work. Thank you for all your help ♡

The little bed and breakfast sat in the middle of Main Street in Geneseo, under the shade provided by the large maple tree to the right. From her room, Isabelle had a view of the valley, out towards the college, the dip making the view a wave of green, red, orange, and yellow out as far as she could see. The day was dark, the clouds heavy with rain. It made Isabelle lonely to think that her grandparents were buried here, with nothing but the wide expanse of wildlife and college students to keep them company. 

She exhaled, her breath fogging up the window of her small room. Isabelle turned back to her room, her long dark hair falling off her shoulder as she moved. Her room seemed smaller than she remembered, the large bed swallowing up most of it, the TV on the dresser and the little red armchair across from the bed taking up the rest of the space. Even the soft blue of the room was harsh in Isabelle's current mood. She didn't want to be stuck inside anymore.

She walked around the bed and snatched her black jacket off the armchair on her way out of the room. The door shut with an audible click, and though Isabelle had stepped out into a brightly lit, blue carpeted hallway, she felt as though she was still suffocating. The identical white doors along the hallway seemed to press into her space, the end of the hallway as unreachable as the reason for the pain in her chest.

Isabelle inhaled, one long breath, her shoulders rising with it, holding it until her lungs ached, holding it a little longer. She exhaled, shook out her hair, head up, shoulders down, as she made her way down the hallway. She was a Lightwood, she reminded herself with each muffled click of her heels on the carpeted floor. Her mother wouldn't approve of breakdowns, especially not today. 

"Isabelle," came Alec's voice, just as Isabelle passed his door, three down from hers, Jace, Max, and their parents in between.

Isabelle relaxed further, her body recognizing safety in the familiarity of Alec's tone before her mind did. 

"Mother is looking for you," Alec said.

"Mother is always looking for me," Isabelle answered, half turning as she walked down the hall. "Just tell her you tried but I'm so very irresponsible, I just ran off."

Alec frowned. "She didn't mean it like that," he said.

Isabelle shrugged, the tightness in her chest seeming to push up against her throat. She could feel tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. She shouldn't be surprised. This was an old dance, a play so long ago memorized it should have been nothing to repeat the words, to roll her eyes at her mother's disappointment and Alec's rationalizations. Isabelle knew their mother was different with Alec. In many ways, Isabelle was free to be who she was, because Alec was exactly who their mother wanted both of them to be, so very responsible, fit to lead, the Lightwood heir. In other ways, Alec wasn't allowed to be who he was, because Isabelle was exactly who their mother feared they'd become without her, the rebel, a scandal waiting to happen, the family disappointment. 

_Be more like Alec_ , the constant mantra, repeated at every birthday, at every lecture, from the moment Isabelle picked a whip instead of a respectable seraph blade. _Why can't you be more like Alec?_

Isabelle couldn't hate him, not even when she did a little, because then he'd find her in her room, crying under her oversized comforter. He'd pat her head and say, "I'm sorry."

Even if her mother wasn't sorry, Alec always was, and Isabelle could have never hated him. 

"You side with her too much," Isabelle said now. 

The words sounded hollow to her ears even though she'd meant them to be playful. 

"Izzy," Alec started.

He stood with his arms crossed over his own black jacket, his nicest shirt on, his hair combed carefully and parted to one side.

"Alec," Isabelle said, grinning slowly as she realized what Alec's clothes meant. "Is Magnus here? Today?"

Alec shrugged and Isabelle turned in a circle as though looking for Magnus, throwing herself into the unexpected delight. Alec shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and Isabelle knew him.

"Alec," she whispered letting shock seep into her words. "What would grandpa say?"

Alec rolled his eyes, "Nothing good, probably," amused, but not worried.

Isabelle winked. "Say hello to Magnus for me," she said.

She turned, not waiting for Alec to say he wouldn't or to ask where she was going. She reached the end of the hallway, took a right down the wooden stairs, the clicking of her heels a reassurance, a little bit of fortitude, so that by the time Isabelle reached the last step, she was herself again, confidence so ingrained it might be considered arrogance to some. She pushed her thick black hair over her shoulders, shook it out a bit, and plastered a grin on her face, cocky and self-assured.

Isabelle stood at the foot of the stairs for a moment, the front door a couple of step ahead, another door and the reception desk to the left, the dining room to her right. There was no clock in the little hallway, barely any noises coming from the dining room of the tiny bed and breakfast, even though it doubled as a one of the few restaurants in town. 

The door to Isabelle's left led to a ballroom, a room barely bigger than Isabelle's bedroom back at the Institute in New York City. The ballroom served as a sitting room when not in use by Geneseo University. Isabelle hadn't been in the sitting room yet but it was late afternoon, the dining room had a clock in it, and from what she could remember of the menu this morning, the food had looked decent.

Having decided, Isabelle took the two steps to the entrance of the dining room. A quick glance around the room and her eyes landed on the group of four people occupying one of the four large round tables in the small room. They were obviously a family, the mother and father mid-laughter at something the daughter was saying. The genuine warmth caught Isabelle’s attention, the easiness with which the family regarded each other. She'd sat down at a smaller table close to the door and across from the family before she'd fully registered that she'd done so.

Isabelle wasn't the only one staring in the tiny dining room. Geneseo was a small homogenous town and a family with a Black father, a white mother, and two children, one who, to Isabelle, was obviously Latino, attracted attention. The father, a handsome man of about forty, with a beard, and a face made for laughing, sat with the indifference of a man used to unwanted or unwelcome attention. He was holding his wife’s hand, his silver wedding band catching the light from the bulbs of the ornate, over extravagant lamps set onto the walls.

The whole bed and breakfast was a quaint mixture of old architecture, with high vaulted ceilings and chandeliers, filled with modern furniture manufactured to look old. The wallpaper on the dining room walls was off-white with small red flowers that matched the deep dark red of the carpet. There was a stone fireplace to Isabelle's left, in between two large wide windows covered by thick champagne curtains. The chandelier above the center of the room glittered as the lights from its many tiny bulbs hit the glass casings covering them. It was excessive, that light drowned out by the light of the lamps on the walls, in turn overwhelmed by the glittering silverware and glasses. The wooden tables and black high-back chairs only added to the almost suffocating presence of the room, everything almost too much and just enough.

At their table, the redheads clashed viciously with the rest of the room. The daughter especially, her hair a vibrant gorgeous red that was almost orange. Isabelle’s eyes lingered for a moment before settling on the boy at the table. She tried to decide if she recognized where his parents might be from, decided that he must be a friend or adopted. She wanted to say he was Cuban, but she didn't know any Cubans. He wasn't Mexican though, that Isabelle would have known instantly, just like her mother would know who might be Guyanese. The parts of their family they resembled most were always the ones they recognized easiest in others.

The family laughed again, and Isabelle could almost feel the heaviness setting down on her shoulders. She thought of Max and Jace, asleep in their room, of Alec in his very best clothes. She missed them fiercely as she watched the little family continue eating, and she wished she'd woken Jace and Max or called for her father. She found she was lonely even now when they were so close by.

It struck her as ridiculous to feel that way, and she was still smiling when the guy at the table with the redheads looked up. He had kind brown eyes that glanced at her, away, and then back. He blinked and Isabelle smiled wider, raised her left hand and waved twice with her fingers. He blushed and Isabelle stood, her curiosity about the boy momentarily driving out thoughts of her brothers. 

She checked to make sure that all her runes were covered by her jacket and her clothes, before walking over. Isabelle bit back an amused laugh as she watched the boy’s eyes widen when he caught sight of her. He did a double take.

“Clary,” Isabelle heard him says, as he nudged the redheaded girl next to him.

Clary looked up drawing the attention of the rest of the table. Isabelle straightened up, her mother’s voice even now running through her head. 

“You’re a Lightwood,” Maryse had always said. “Walk like one.”

“Hello,” Isabelle said, holding out her hand towards the boy. “I’m Isabelle.”

“Simon,” he said. “I...Hi…I’m Simon.”

“I saw you from where I was sitting,” Isabelle said. “You’re Latino, right?”

Simon blinked, clearly surprised by Isabelle’s question. “Wow, yeah, I am,” he said. “It’s just no one ever really notices that here, you know?”

“¿Muchos blancos?”

She glanced at Clary, letting her eyes linger and catch Clary’s green eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, the interest evident in Clary’s appreciative once over. Isabelle let herself indulge in the pleasure of knowing someone she thought was attractive thought she was too. 

“Solo porque estamos muy lejos de New York,” Simon answered.

“You’re from the city?” Isabelle asked, missing the disappointment on Clary’s face as she turned back to Simon. 

“Yes, we’re from the city. I’m Luke,” the dad said, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

"Right," Isabelle said, smiling at the rest of the table. "I’m sorry. I’m Isabelle. I get distracted, sometimes. And you are?"

"Clary," Clary said, holding out her hand.

Isabelle took it, immediately charmed by the ink smudge on Clary's knuckles. "You're an artist?" she asked.

"The best," Simon said, beaming as he threw an arm around Clary's shoulders.

"Oh," Isabelle said, burying her disappointment as she watched the easy way that Clary eased into Simon's embrace. "You two are together?"

"What? No," Simon said.

"Please," Clary said. 

Isabelle pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. Simon had tossed Clary as far away from himself as he could, his eyes wide. Clary kept throwing glances Isabelle's way, and Luke was outright laughing. The only one not saying much was Clary's mother. She hadn't even introduced herself, hadn't looked away from Isabelle, her eyes narrowed, expression angry. Isabelle found that she had been subconsciously tightening her fist on the side where her electrum whip rested around her wrist.

"So, where in the city are you from?" Isabelle asked, going on a hunch.

"We're from Broo--" Clary started.

"That's enough," Clary's mother said. 

Her expression hadn't changed, but her voice was gentle motherly concern. 

"Mom," Clary said at the same time that Luke said, "Jocelyn."

"I'm sure Isabelle has things to do," Jocelyn said. "We don't want to keep you."

"I'm sorry," Isabelle said, shaking her right hand and watching Jocelyn's eyes snap to her bracelet. "I didn't mean to bother you."

"You're definitely not bothering us," Clary was quick to say. "Right mom?"

Isabelle spared a small smile for Clary. 

"No, of course not," Jocelyn said. "I'm sorry. You just remind me of someone I used to know."

Luke moved then, just a fraction of a movement, but Isabelle noticed. He hadn't done anything except get closer to Jocelyn, but his whole demeanor had changed. Isabelle's eyes snapped to him, lingering on his exposed skin. She couldn't see any marks on him or on Jocelyn, but Isabelle couldn't shake the feeling that she'd stumbled onto something complicated. Maybe shadowhunters who had been banished from Idris. But if that were the case, Clary would have been looked after and trained in Idris, like any other child of banished shadowhunters. That meant that either Clary had refused to be trained, or she didn't know. And from the way Jocelyn was being so careful, Isabelle was willing to bet it was the second option.

She looked at Luke and Jocelyn one more time and couldn't see any malice. Isabelle had never heard of any shadowhunters who had been stripped of their runes, but then, Isabelle and her family didn't spend much time in Idris. There was something about this family, though, something about their kindness and the way Clary had laughed with Simon. Luke obviously loved Jocelyn, and they both loved their daughter. Simon was comfortable with them.

But then, it wouldn't really surprise Isabelle to know that the Clave had been unjust.

Isabelle looked back at Clary, who was staring at Isabelle through her eyelashes. Pretty eyes weren't enough to convince Isabelle, but she trusted her own instincts.

"I'm here with my parents," she said now, being careful to keep smiling at Clary and Simon. "We're here for Day of the Dead. We'll be here until November 2nd, maybe longer, depending on how mom feels. Everything always depends on how mom feels. She's upstairs right now, with my dad and my brothers."

"You've got brothers?" Simon asked, hopefully.

"Yes?" Isabelle asked, confused by Simon's enthusiasm. "Why?"

Simon shrugged. "I've very obviously lost this round," he said gesturing between Clary and Isabelle. "You dig Clary. Clary digs you. So, your brothers? They single?"

Clary, Isabelle found out, could turn a very flattering shade of pink. It was such a pity Isabelle probably wouldn't see her again after today.

"Your family sounds very pleasant," Luke said, gesturing for the check, his other hand gripping Jocelyn's. "Are you expecting them soon?"

"Not at all," Isabelle said. "But I should probably go check on them. We said we'd go at six, but there's a whole ritual where I keep everyone distracted for twenty minutes and make us all late."

"Twenty minutes?" Luke asked, amused.

Isabelle glanced at Jocelyn. Her knuckles were white where she was holding Luke's hand. "Thirty minutes," Isabelle said. "Maybe more. Depends on how much mom feels like lecturing."

"Great," Luke said. "Well, it was nice meeting you Isabelle, but we're leaving now."

"Wait, what?" Clary asked. "Why?"

"After lunch ride," Luke said, folding some bills into the check.

He let go of Jocelyn's hand to guide Clary and Simon around Isabelle and towards the door. 

"Bye Simon," Isabelle waved. "See you around, Clary."

Clary opened her mouth to say something, snapped it closed. She looked furious for a second. Then, she pulled away from Luke and marched right back to where Isabelle was standing. 

"So," she said. "I'm horrible at this, but you look really good in your leather jacket and you should call me."

Isabelle's smile was easy, amused and pleased. "And how am I supposed to call you?"

Clary stuck her hand out and dropped the receipt from her table onto Isabelle's hand. There was a number scrawled on the back. 

"So, I'm leaving now," Clary said. "But call me. We can go out for coffee or something."

Isabelle sighed. She should make up a story, tell Clary that she wasn't from New York, that she had a boyfriend or a girlfriend. But Clary looked so hopeful, and Isabelle wanted to call her. She wanted to go get coffee, to have something to look forward to when her mom lectured her. She'd have fun getting to know Clary, to maybe introducing her to Alec and Max and Jace. Isabelle even wanted to get to know Simon, to ask him more about his family, to be done with the isolation, the rules, the hounding, _"always be perfect Isabelle, always be more."_

"All right," Isabelle said,

"Yeah?" Clary asked, a little breathless. "All right. Cool. I'll see you."

"Bye."

Isabelle watched Clary walk away, caught her eye when Clary looked back. It didn't seem fair that after her fight with her mother, she'd have to be sad about missed opportunities, too. 

"Your mom?" Jocelyn asked. "What's her name?"

Isabelle exhaled. "I don't know," she said, handing Jocelyn the receipt with Clary's number. "I just call her mom."

Jocelyn folded the receipt into a little square. "Fair enough," she said.

Isabelle waited five minutes after Jocelyn had left the dining area, before rushing back upstairs. She caught Alec just as he was coming out of Jace's room. 

"Come on," she said, taking his and Jace's hands and dragging them down the hallway. 

"Izzy, what are you doing?" Alec asked.

Jace was already following her down the hall on his own. "Do I need more weapons?" he asked.

Isabelle shook her head. "No," she said. "We're going to talk to Magnus."

"What? Why?" Alec asked, digging his heels into the carpeted hallway.

"Because," Isabelle said, getting to the stairs at the end of the hallway. "He's the only person we know who won't lie to us if we ask him about any banished shadowhunters."

"What are you talking about?" Jace asked. "Magnus isn't even here."

Isabelle gave Alec's hair a very pointed look. 

"Right," Jace said. "Okay, so, Magnus. Banished shadowhunters. You've had an eventful evening, what happened?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I met a girl."

*

They'd talked to Magnus, and he'd told them about Valentine's Circle and the banished shadowhunters, about their parents and Hodge. It figured, Isabelle thought, days later when she was lying in bed back at the New York Institute. It figured that they were all stuck in New York because neither of her parents were allowed to live in Idris anymore. It figured that her mother could make mistakes, but the moment Isabelle so much as breathed the wrong way, her mother made it seem like the world was ending.

She understood where the bitterness came from. She'd grown up hurt by little things her mother did or didn't do. Like on the day Isabelle had graduated and become a forensic pathologist. Max, Jace, Alec, and her father had all been there to hug her after the graduation ceremony, Alec pulling her close to tell her how proud he was. But her mother had just nodded, told her it was the least she could do, because everything Isabelle did fell short. It was never enough.

Isabelle even understood why her mother was the way she was now. She could see why her mother praised Alec so much for obeying the rules, why she came down so hard on Isabelle for toeing the line so much. Isabelle reminded her mother too much of her mistakes, of how easy it was to bend the rules, to get carried away. It was that that had been bothering Isabelle since the day Magnus told them about the Circle. 

It all came down to the fact that Maryse thought Isabelle was the kind of person who would betray her family for something as insubstantial as a promise made to her by a man. As though Isabelle hadn't proven over and over that she would do anything for any of her family, for her mother even. As though Isabelle hadn't changed when it really mattered.

She was hurt again and like always, her only defense was to think of something else. She found it was easy to focus on Clary, easy to recall the exact shade of her hair and the freckles on her nose. What Isabelle wouldn't give for coffee with Clary, to just be a girl on a date, to be charming and flirty. She wanted to be away for a moment, to be the focus of someone else's attention, to take Clary's breath away.

Isabelle wanted to be enough, just for a moment.

*

For a people who believe in angels, Isabelle had never put much faith in miracles. She dismissed fate for the same reason; she found it ridiculous to think that her decisions were out of her hand. If she became the best forensic pathologist in the city, it was because she had done the work. If she disappointed her mother, it was because she had chosen to be that person. 

That was why, when Isabelle ran into Clary on her way back to the Institute with Jace and Alec, it took her a moment to realize that the redhead who was yelling Isabelle's name was the same one from Geneseo.

"Isabelle," Jace said. "I think that mundane can see us."

Alec stopped short. "Mundanes can't see through glamours."

They'd both turned to stare. Isabelle hesitated for a moment. Magnus had mentioned Jocelyn, had mentioned Valentine's daughter. But Magnus had also mentioned that Valentine was dead, and as far as Clary knew, there was no such thing as the shadow world. Clary was just a regular college freshman. Isabelle was just a girl.

"I'll be right back," Isabelle said.

"That's her," Alec said, disapproval clear in his voice. "Clary Fairchild."

Isabelle turned to look at him, putting her back to Clary. She smiled at Alec. "You know," she said, softly. "I'm really tired of mom always, always, _always_ finding something wrong with me. I'm tired of watching you have to hide Magnus. And, I am tired of Jace asking me to describe Simon for him."

"Hey," Jace said. "He was the one who asked about your brothers."

Alec shook his head, his smile fond as he looked at Isabelle. "Well," he said, glancing behind Isabelle. "She's coming this way and she looks angry. So, just...be careful."

"I am always careful, big brother," Isabelle said, winking at them.

Then, she twirled around, tossed her hair over her shoulders, tugged her jacket in place and walked straight at Clary. Isabelle hooked her arm through Clary's turning her around in the same motion and leading her down the street away from Alec and Jace. 

"You would not believe the story I have to tell you," Isabelle said.

*

There were things Isabelle had no control over. She couldn't change what her parents had done with Valentine. She couldn't make her mother forgive herself, couldn't make her father fight for his children a little harder. Isabelle couldn't even get Max into the appropriate clothes, sometimes. She didn't control the future, not when her mother would find out about Clary, or when Jocelyn would find out about Isabelle. 

At some point, Clary would want Isabelle to come over when her mother was there. At some point, Isabelle would bring Clary to meet Jace, Alec and Max. At some point, Isabelle would have to explain the runes on her skin.

But for now, Isabelle and Clary sat across from each other, two cups of coffee in between them. Clary was still pretending she was mad about Isabelle losing her number, and Isabelle was flirting by way of apology. Their knees touched under the table, and Clary's green and blue plaid shirt matched wonderfully with her hair. Clary hadn't been able to look away from Isabelle's face for the last twenty minutes, and for now, it was enough.

Isabelle felt like enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Line 1: Too many white people?  
> Line 2: It's just because we're so far from New York.
> 
> (you know, give or take a few words. but in the general context those are the mot accurate translations)


End file.
